That's Dr Bartlet to You and Me
by writermarie
Summary: Josh Lyman has had a secret fantasy for years....One quiet night, she walks through his door...


Title: That's Dr. Bartlet to You and Me  
  
Author: Marie E. Rossiter  
  
Spoilers: Vague really: Seasons One and Season two  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Pairing: Josh/Abbey  
  
Spoilers: They aren't mine, unfortunately. Thanks to Sorkin and  
  
clan for giving them to us!  
  
POV: Josh  
  
I heard through the grapevine, which is long and twisted  
  
around here, what she said to Oliver down in the basement. How the  
  
grapevine got wind of it, I have no clue, but I get the scoop, and  
  
that's all that matters.  
  
"Dr. Bartlet. When did I stop being Dr. Bartlet and become  
  
Mrs. Bartlet?"  
  
It's the rhetorical question heard 'round the White  
  
House...maybe around the world. And damn, I wish I had been there in  
  
person to hear those words!  
  
I can only imagine the tension in her voice and the level of  
  
insult she must have felt at that moment with Oliver-who is no one's  
  
favorite person, really-even though we know that he may potentially  
  
save all of our asses in the end. Oh, it must have been something!  
  
Put simply, Dr. Bartlet is a passionate woman.  
  
Is that wrong of me to say about the First Lady of the United  
  
States, the wife of our President? Perhaps. But, I pride myself in my  
  
honesty (well, most of the time) and I'd be lying if I didn't say  
  
that.  
  
I had her pegged early on, in the primaries, when she came up  
  
to me and offered her own ass to kick around instead of her husband's.  
  
At the time, then Governor Bartlet had few friends, even in his own  
  
camp. He was an arrogant and irritating man, who appeared to be cold  
  
and unfeeling and for someone who was working to get him elected to  
  
the highest office in the country, it was not a "warm fuzzy" feeling,  
  
if you know what I mean.  
  
I had seen Dr. Bartlet before this, of course: at rallies,  
  
speeches, dinners, etc. We even had a few, passing conversations.  
  
Yet, I didn't really "see" Dr. Bartlet until that night when she  
  
offered herself as a punching bag in place of the Governor. It took  
  
everything I had to keep a straight face. It wasn't a long discussion  
  
that night, but she made quite an impression.  
  
So much so that when she walked away from me, I instinctually  
  
felt my eyes gravitate to the very ass she "offered" in sacrifice. I  
  
am not ashamed to admit, I liked what I saw. Unbelievable, you say?  
  
My response is: you're not alive or you're in denial, my friend.  
  
From that moment, I found myself quietly fascinated with the  
  
governor's wife. The thought ran through my mind of "What does this  
  
bright, vibrant and intriguing woman see in the man she married?"  
  
Now, of course, I know of their special connection; but, at first  
  
glance, they seem so dissimilar.  
  
So, I found myself drawn to her whenever she walked into a  
  
room. You couldn't help but notice her. All too often, the men of  
  
the campaign would sit around and talk about the women on board with  
  
us. Names would float around about who was the prettiest, had the  
  
sexiest legs, nicest hair (yes, guys talk about this stuff, but don't  
  
tell that I told you, ok?). The one name that never came up: Abigail  
  
Bartlet. I don't think it was because of the fact that no one thought  
  
of her in that way, it was because all of us knew it had to be an  
  
unspoken fact. At least, that's my explanation, and I'm sticking to  
  
it.  
  
Now, please, don't get me wrong. My thoughts of Dr. Bartlet  
  
are strictly random and not obsessive whatsoever. But, I have had my  
  
moments where a man could have been tempted to risk it all...to find  
  
out what it would be like to be in her arms and ravaged by her.  
  
Of course, I would never, ever act upon those thoughts-but  
  
they are a nice way to pass the time.  
  
I shouldn't make this sound like I am lusting after her,  
  
because that is not the whole picture. I have a tremendous amount of  
  
respect for her. She has almost always treated me with kindness and  
  
respect. And, if I twist my mind around it enough, I could swear that  
  
we have had our own little moments of mutual flirtations. You  
  
probably think I'm crazy. Hell, I've been accused of that before-even  
  
been sent to a shrink. But, I assure you I am not, at least not in  
  
regards to this.  
  
Inauguration Night. There are about a hundred different balls  
  
and parties going on, and that's just in D.C alone. Just about  
  
everyone who is anyone is there. The Bartlets (mostly the President,  
  
really) love to do it up when it comes to a formal occasion. This is  
  
when we all found out of the President's affinity for black tie/white  
  
tie events. Personally, I don't hate them, but the tux is not the  
  
most comfortable piece of clothing I own, you know?  
  
Anyway, the staff is at the New Hampshire Ball, waiting for  
  
the newly elected President and First Lady, and I'm trying to figure  
  
out if I'm actually going to get lucky. I had just broken up with  
  
Mandy recently and I was on the rebound-hard. But, never to be a  
  
party pooper, I decided to have a good time and enjoy the fruits of my  
  
hard labor over the past, countless months.  
  
Finally, the President and First Lady arrived. I didn't see  
  
them at first, as I was at the back of the ballroom, getting something  
  
to drink. But the orchestra announced their arrival with a rousing  
  
rendition of "Hail to the Chief". I maneuvered my way up toward the  
  
front and found "the gang" standing there, grinning like Cheshire  
  
cats. It was a long road to get us here, and for the first time, I  
  
think it sank in that we got our man elected to the presidency.  
  
But, as the First Couple took the stage, I was not struck by  
  
the feelings of pride and accomplishment that my colleagues were  
  
probably experiencing at that moment...All I could see was Abigail  
  
Bartlet. When the spotlight hit her as they walked onto the stage,  
  
the wind was literally knocked out of me.  
  
"It's something, ain't it kid?" Leo asked excitedly, slapping  
  
me on the shoulder.  
  
"Yeah," I mumbled. I was in awe. She looked exquisite. Her  
  
red, barely off the shoulder, floor length dress accentuated all of  
  
the positives-and believe me, there were too many to mention. She  
  
didn't look like a First Lady, she looked like a queen...or a goddess.  
  
If I sound like I'm gushing, it's probably because at that moment, if  
  
I could have uttered a coherent word, I would have. There wasn't a  
  
woman in the whole damn room (and there were hundreds of young, eager  
  
and attractive women there) who could hold a candle to her. And,  
  
Josiah Bartlet knew it...lucky bastard.  
  
I'm sure that the President's remarks were witty, charming and  
  
gracious, but I don't recall a word he said. I just stared. That's  
  
all I could do. Then, the crowd was wowed by the obligatory "first  
  
dance" of the evening, which is silly really; because it's not really  
  
the "first dance"...people had been waiting and celebrating for at  
  
least two hours by this point. But, tradition must go on, and so it  
  
did that night. The First Couple glided across the floor to the  
  
cheers and adulation of their home crowd. I smiled at the sight.  
  
I don't recall a lot of what happened immediately after that.  
  
There was a lot of confusion as the President and First Lady shook  
  
hands and greeting their friends, family and staff. Congratulations  
  
and even tears flowed freely for a while there. The music was loud  
  
and the crowd was all worked up. After a few moments, I felt a hand  
  
on my shoulder. I turned around to see the First Lady standing in  
  
front of me.  
  
"Care to dance with a woman of newly elevated position?" she  
  
asked me with a grin.  
  
I think she escorted me out onto the floor. My memory of  
  
getting out onto the floor is pretty hazy. But, once I held her in my  
  
arms, things suddenly came into focus...  
  
I confess.I'm not a great dancer. Maybe I should take a lesson or two,  
  
considering all the galas I attend and all. But, I just can't see me  
  
in a large room, full of mirrors and learning the cha-cha.  
  
Yet, those lessons would have come in very handy during the  
  
Inauguration..  
  
I had never been this close to Dr. Bartlet before. As I said before,  
  
the moment that I held her in my arms, everything came into focus. My  
  
senses were acute: the music sounded clearer, the colors brighter, the feel of her dress was soft and smooth, and her scent was intoxicating. I literally had to shake my head to clear my mind from the  
  
overwhelming power of my senses.  
  
"Josh? Are we just going to stand here or are we going to dance?" she  
  
asked above the music.  
  
Then, it dawned on me. I can't dance! Other than the basic, awkward  
  
shuffle step that all guys appear to have genetically implanted into  
  
them at birth-you know the one, with the awkward arm motions added for good measure? Here I was with the First Lady of the United States: a woman I admired greatly, and I couldn't move my feet!  
  
"Uh, ma'am, I'm not a very good dancer, I'm afraid," I whispered back.  
  
A feeling of déjà vu overcame me then-of my days in junior high school at those lame dances where the boys stand on one side and the girls the other.  
  
"Well, then, I guess I'll have to lead," she said with a grin. She  
  
leaned in very close to me. "Don't worry, Josh. No one will know but  
  
me, and I can keep a secret," she whispered softly in my ear.  
  
God, this isn't fair.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am," I managed to reply.  
  
"Oh God, Josh. Will you stop calling me that? You make me feel like  
  
your mother or something. And, trust me Josh, I'm not your mother."  
  
I took in a deep breath. There's an understatement if I ever heard  
  
one.  
  
Somehow, she made me look and feel almost competent on the dance  
  
floor. I'll never forget those few minutes. In one way, it felt like I  
  
was caught in a moment of time with her.yet, on the other hand, time seemed to escape right out from under me.  
  
We said nothing else during that dance. There was nothing I could say  
  
that wouldn't have sounded asinine. Thankfully, for once, I was able  
  
to keep my big mouth shut.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Lyman, if it's all right with you, I'd like to have my  
  
wife back."  
  
Oh God. It's him. Did he think I was moving in on his wife? Was I  
  
moving in on his wife? I don't even know!  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. President. I didn't mean to keep her from you, sir," I  
  
answer quickly, taking a step or two back from Dr. Bartlet.  
  
"Come on Jed, you have to learn to share," she teased him, putting her  
  
arm around his waist.  
  
The President laughed out loud at this. I'm just praying that it's not  
  
obvious that I'm sweating profusely under this monkey suit.  
  
"Seriously, Josh," the President said, taking my hand in his and  
  
shaking it firmly. "I can't even begin to thank you enough for all  
  
you've done to get us here. It wouldn't have  
  
happened without you, young man."  
  
A rare burst of modesty takes over me as I smile and just barely blush  
  
at the First Couple.  
  
"Thank you, sir. It is my honor to serve at your pleasure." I tell him  
  
earnestly.  
  
"Thank you, Josh. I'm proud of you," he says, putting his hand on my  
  
shoulder. This is one of those times when he almost takes the place of  
  
my father. Now that sense of pride and accomplishment move forward into my consciousness.  
  
"Let's go, Jed. We have a lot more hand shaking and schmoozing to do  
  
before the evening's over," Dr. Bartlet said, her eyes rolling in  
  
slight annoyance.  
  
"Yes, dear," President Bartlet answered.  
  
"Thank you for the dance, Josh. You were quite good," she said,  
  
breaking away from her husband for a moment to give me a hug. "I guess  
  
that shouldn't surprise me, though," she whispered in my ear. She pulled back casually, back into the waiting arms of the commander-in-chief and started off back to the crowds. Then, as she turned  
  
to leave with her husband, she looked back at me, smiled and winked.  
  
"How did you pull rank?" I hear a voice next to me ask.  
  
"Huh?" I reply. Well, I'm not always articulate, you know.  
  
Sam, Toby and CJ are practically surrounding me now. They almost look  
  
like vultures circling for the kill. It's a neat trick when I'm part  
  
of the flock. However, now that I'm on the other end of this little game, I don't particularly care for it that much.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" I question Sam, who asked the  
  
cryptic question.  
  
"Why did you get to dance with the First Lady before any of us?" Sam  
  
replied.  
  
"I don't know," I stammered. Why I stammered, I have no idea, as I was  
  
telling the truth.  
  
"She asked him to dance, dummy," CJ chimed in. "Josh has always been  
  
her favorite, you know," she teased, nudging me in the shoulder.  
  
"CJ, shut up," I said quietly.  
  
"My, my.aren't we defensive?" CJ continued. She just doesn't know when  
  
to let up. That's probably why she's the Press Secretary, I suppose.  
  
She could teach a course on how to take a trait that is otherwise negative and extremely annoying and make a career out of it.  
  
"Come on, Sam. I'll dance with you until the First Lady has a space  
  
open on her dance card," CJ offers. She pulls Sam onto the dance  
  
floor. Well, that's two of them out of my hair. Toby is still standing next to me, studying me carefully.  
  
"Well, I don't want to dance with you," Toby said gruffly after a long  
  
silence. "I'm going to get another drink."  
Then, I was left alone again. And over the music, I could still hear  
  
CJ's words in my head:  
  
"Josh has always been her favorite, you know."  
  
And, standing there in the middle of the dance floor, I feel a grin  
  
spread uncontrollably across my face.  
  
Yeah, I looked like a goofball. But, I was incredibly smooth  
  
in my goofiness. Not many people can carry off "goofy with style",  
  
right? It's hard work, but someone has to do it.  
  
Since the inauguration, though, I haven't seen much of Dr.  
  
Bartlet. She has her own schedule and itineraries, and it's rare  
  
that we ever cross paths. We see each other at state functions, but  
  
she's engrossed in playing the gracious hostess.well, you know.  
  
I'll let you in on a little secret, she hates those things:  
  
the schmoozing and small talk that go along with politicians and  
  
celebrities. I think she'd much rather be tending to patients, holed  
  
up in a room with a good book, or kicking back with some jazz and a  
  
nice glass of wine. But, that's only my opinion, of course.  
  
I also haven't seen much of her because.well.most people  
  
around here lately are doing everything within their power to steer  
  
clear of her. Since the President revealed his MS and his plans to  
  
run for re election, people basically scatter if word gets out that  
  
the First Lady might enter the room or be within a 50-foot radius.  
  
It's not fair really. She has a bad reputation for her temper. Now,  
  
I haven't seen her lose it all together, and I don't think I'd want  
  
to. However, most of the time, her anger is justified. I know that  
  
all of the senior staff is frustrated, hurt, and even angry (which no  
  
one will ever say out loud). I can't even fathom of how she must  
  
feel. Who could blame her for being pissed? I know I am, and I'm not  
  
married to the President.  
  
So, now, my days are filled with trying to figure out ways to  
  
get the money for our suit against tobacco and not piss more people  
  
off at us along the way. Unfortunately, I have a way of sticking my  
  
foot in it way too deeply oftentimes. But, I'm tired of dancing  
  
around the issues and tiptoeing around here. I want things to get  
  
back to the way they were before all the shit hit the fan. I want to  
  
be aggressive, no holds barred.back to "Let Bartlet be Bartlet'. The  
  
stuff going on around here now is just crap!  
  
I've got a mound of papers on my desk a mile high. I need to  
  
find the budget that the justice department sent over to me regarding  
  
the tobacco suit. As I reach for one of the piles, the whole damn  
  
thing tumbles onto me.  
  
"Damn it! Donna, get in here, I need you!" I yell at the  
  
door.  
  
"You know, Josh, you really shouldn't summon Donna like  
  
that," I hear someone say to me.  
  
I look through the papers on my desk and on myself to see the  
  
First Lady standing in my doorway.  
  
"Dr. Bartlet!" I exclaim, standing up as quickly as I can.  
  
Papers rain down onto the floor and cover my feet. Jeez, I'm such a  
  
dork!  
  
"Sit, sit," she tells me, waving her hand at me as she shuts  
  
the door. She takes a quick glance around the room and furrows her  
  
brow. "That is, if you can," she continues.  
  
"Oh, this?" I reply. "I'll take care of it," I tell her as I  
  
bend down and start picking the papers up off of the floor.  
  
"Here let me help you," she offers, moving onto the floor  
  
with me.  
  
"Please, ma'am. That's not necessary."  
  
She stops for a moment and looks at me, "Trust me, Josh, it  
  
is."  
  
As we work together, I notice she's wearing some sort of  
  
fragrance. I breathe in deeply to get in as much of it in as I can.  
  
I really need to focus on the papers here, I think.  
  
Finally, we manage to get the papers into neat stacks on the  
  
floor.  
  
"You don't want these back on your desk, do you?" she asks me.  
  
I crinkle my brow in confusion. "Sure, why not?"  
  
The First Lady stands up, straightens out her skirt and sits  
  
on the couch. "Because, Josh, if we put those stack back on that  
  
mess, we'll be right back where we started from," she states with a  
  
grin.  
  
I keep forgetting that most people find my organization  
  
system.well.not very organized.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Donna keeps gently reminding me that I need to  
  
straighten it up just a bit," I reply sheepishly. I feel a flush  
  
crawling up my neck right now.  
  
"Gently reminding?" she inquires with a raised  
  
eyebrow. "Maybe she needs to take out the bullwhip to get your  
  
attention." She sits back on the couch now. "That seems to be the  
  
only way to get the attention of the men around here," she mutters.  
  
"Excuse me?" I ask, not sure that what I thought I just heard  
  
is truly what she said.  
  
"Never mind," she sighed.  
  
"Dr. Bartlet?" I begin to her, and then stop suddenly. I don't  
  
have a clue of what to say or even why she's here.  
  
"Dr. Bartlet," she repeats quietly. "Why do you call me  
  
that?"  
  
"That's your name," I answer simply.  
  
"No one calls me that, Josh. Not in a long time. Unless,  
  
you heard about my little tirade." she eyes me with suspicion.  
  
"Me? Uh, no.I just." Just shut up, Josh!  
  
"So much for lawyer/client privilege," she says with a smirk.  
  
I sigh. Oh, man. I'm in for it now.  
  
"Well, anyway. I appreciate the gesture, Josh," she  
  
continues, essentially bailing me out of my stuttering mess. "It  
  
means more to me than you know," she adds softly.  
  
She's sitting back on the couch, trying to look relaxed, but  
  
I can see the tension in her body.  
  
You know, I am typically a pretty self-confident guy. Some  
  
would even argue arrogant. Now, I would argue that I'm not really  
  
arrogant-just considerably self-assured. I draw this conclusion  
  
based on the facts: I'm intelligent, I work hard, I'm well read and  
  
well spoken.why not be proud of those facts.  
  
And, yet, I'm sitting here staring at this woman, and I have  
  
not a single intelligent word to say. How pathetic is that?  
  
"Uh, ma'am, is there something I can do for you?"  
  
Her eyes narrow, just barely. "So help me God, Josh, if you  
  
call me ma'am again.."  
  
"Sorry!" I interrupt.  
  
Her face softens a little, letting me know that I might live  
  
to see tomorrow.  
  
"Actually, I was just out, walking around, trying to clear my  
  
head. You ever do that, Josh? Seems like you live in this office.  
  
Do you ever get to see daylight or even starlight?" she asks  
  
sarcastically.  
  
"Once in a while," I answer.  
  
"I've been doing it a lot," she tells me. She becomes quiet  
  
for a moment and looks away from me.sort of over my shoulder and off  
  
in the distance. "I haven't been sleeping very much. So, I walk."  
  
I nod my head. She does look tired. I smile slightly at her  
  
in empathy. I haven't been sleeping much, either, if the truth be  
  
told. "I've seen the President wandering a lot lately, too," I  
  
note. "He famous for that."  
  
"Yeah," she replies distantly. "You'd think I'd run into him  
  
somehow then, huh?"  
  
I sit perfectly still, trying not to react to this revelation.  
  
"Maybe you can answer a question for me, Josh," she states,  
  
looking at me once again.  
  
"Sure," I offer.  
  
"I made the crack before about the bullwhip to get attention  
  
around here. Seriously, though. What does someone have to do around  
  
here to talk to somebody? I mean really talk to somebody?"  
  
I swallow hard. How do I respond to this one? I can't use  
  
one of my quick and witty answers here. That leaves out a lot of  
  
material for me. I'm not used to answering a question like this in  
  
an honest and straightforward manner.  
  
"Maybe if I attach myself to a key piece of legislation, that  
  
might work. What do you think?" she asks weakly.  
  
"I don't know, Dr. Bartlet," I say cautiously. "You know,  
  
people here work on a million different tracks, and all of them are  
  
at full speed."  
  
"And now that re-election is up for grabs, it'll go by even  
  
faster," she notes.  
  
"Probably so," I answer honestly.  
  
She nods her head in silence. She looks me right in the  
  
eye. "Do you think I'm the bad guy, Josh?"  
  
"The bad guy?" I repeat. Yes, I'm stalling.  
  
"Yes. You ever notice how when I come in the room, people  
  
here scatter most of the time. I never thought my people skills were  
  
that bad," she says with a sardonic chuckle.  
  
"You're not the bad guy, Dr. Bartlet," I assure her.  
  
"So, why the ice queen treatment from people?"  
  
Ice queen. Funny, that wouldn't be the metaphor I'd use for  
  
her.  
  
I study her. She really wants to know.  
  
"I think it's just that people are trying to be sensitive to your  
  
feelings, that's all." Did that sound as lame as I think it did?  
  
Now, she's the one studying me. "Are people here scared of me, Josh?"  
  
Oh, God. Please, let the phone ring. Let Donna burst in here with a  
  
national emergency.  
  
"I think I deserve an answer to my question," she continues calmly.  
  
It's my turn to look over her shoulder.  
  
Her eyes widen a bit. "Josh, are you scared of me?" she asks with a  
  
hint of surprise in her voice.  
  
"Me? I'm not scared of you," I say a little too quickly.  
  
"Josh?" she replies.  
  
"I don't think scared is the accurate word, Dr. Bartlet." I  
  
say slowly.  
  
"Then, what would be the accurate word, Josh?"  
  
"I'm not sure how to say it. You have a reputation." Here I  
  
go.  
  
"My temper," she says bluntly. "I know."  
  
I stand up and start to pace behind my desk. How do I get  
  
myself into these things?  
  
"Can you blame me for being upset, Josh?" she asks me  
  
pointedly. "He didn't even talk to me about it. He doesn't talk to  
  
me about anything. No one talks to me about anything."  
  
I stop my pacing mid-stride. Did I just hear her voice  
  
crack? Did she say he didn't even talk to her about all of this?  
  
Holy shit, no wonder she's.  
  
I walk over to her and sit beside her on the couch.  
  
"I didn't know," I tell her.  
  
"How could you?" she replied, shrugging her shoulders. "You've been kept in the dark, too."  
  
I've never seen this side of her before. Vulnerable.I'm not sure I can handle it.  
  
"I'm sorry, Josh. I shouldn't be talking like this to you,"  
  
the First Lady says, standing up suddenly. She's noticed she's opened  
  
the door perhaps a little further than she had intended.  
  
Out of nowhere, I grab her hand. "Please." I say to her. A simple word, with a complex meaning.  
  
She stops, looks down at my hand, then at me. She glances at  
  
the closed door and somehow justifies it in her mind that she can  
  
stay. She sits back down next to me.  
  
'It never used to be like this," she chuckles. "I never used  
  
to be like this."  
  
"Like what?" I ask. I'm treading on dangerous ground by  
  
asking this, I realize. But, I don't really care.  
  
"Oh, being so unsure of things.so unsure of myself," she tells  
  
me with a neutral tone in her voice. "I'm used to being in charge of  
  
my own life. Yes, being a public servant places restrictions on a  
  
person, but never before have I felt as though I was not the one in  
  
control of my actions, my thoughts, my life."  
  
For once in my life, I decide that listening, more than  
  
speaking, may say a lot more than any superficial comment I could make  
  
right now.  
  
"But now, I don't know. I feel like I have no direction, no  
  
control. I suppose I'm not used to that. Maybe I'm a control freak,"  
  
she relates, lowering her eyes. "I know that a First Lady doesn't  
  
have the same clout as the President or any of you people here,  
  
really. But it should count for something, right?" she inquires.  
  
I notice that she's now looking me right in the eye.  
  
"I should count for something, right?" she questions. "I  
  
mean, I used to contribute to this team-albeit indirectly. When did I  
  
go from 'indirectly' to 'invisible', Josh?"  
  
"You could never be invisible," I declare emphatically. Where  
  
did that come from?  
  
The First Lady looks at me and for the first time since we  
  
began this conversation, she almost smiles. I mean really smile, in  
  
earnest.  
  
And then, I notice it. I'm still holding her hand. I know I  
  
should let go, but I can't. And then, I realize, she hasn't pulled it  
  
away, either.  
  
"Can I ask you a personal question, Josh?"  
  
Oh hell, why not.I mean, look where we are now, right?  
  
"Yes, but I can't promise I'll answer you," I answer with a  
  
grin.  
  
"Why are you alone all the time? You should have at least a  
  
girlfriend, really a wife, by now."  
  
"Now you're starting to sound like my mother," I respond,  
  
rolling my eyes.  
  
With her free hand, she lightly slaps me on the arm. "You  
  
watch your mouth," she scolds. "I'm serious."  
  
I shrug my shoulders. "I'm too busy. I live here remember?"  
  
She considers my reply for a beat. "There are lots of  
  
available women around here, Josh. You could have your pick."  
  
"Yeah, well. That's your opinion."  
  
"Yes, it is," she remarks. "Or do you have your eye on a  
  
particular one and you're just waiting for the right time?"  
  
"Dr. Bartlet," I begin uncomfortably, "It's not that simple."  
  
"She's not going to wait forever, you know," she states.  
  
She? What is she talking about 'she'? Dr. Bartlet notes my  
  
confusion. If anyone up there is listening, please, help me!!  
  
"I'm not sure that Donna will wait another four years for  
  
you.no matter how fantastic you are."  
  
I choke back a laugh. "Donna?!" I exclaim.  
  
"Yes, Donna. Jeez, Josh, it's so obvious how you two feel  
  
about each other. When are you going to admit it to yourselves."  
  
I start to laugh out loud. And to think that I thought she  
  
meant..Oh, man!  
  
"What's so funny?" Dr. Bartlet questions me.  
  
"Nothing. Sorry. Donna isn't.we're not.it's not like that,  
  
Dr. Bartlet."  
  
"Oh, ok," she says casually. "Still, no one should be alone,  
  
Josh."  
  
I nod my head in agreement.  
  
I'm still holding her hand. I probably should let it go now.  
  
But, I can't.  
  
"No one should be alone," she repeats, her head bowed. I look  
  
at her intently and see a lone tear falling down her cheek.  
  
"You're not alone, Dr. Bartlet," I whisper, squeezing her hand  
  
in mine.  
  
Her head doesn't move from its downward position "Just once,  
  
Josh, do you think that we could dispense with 'Dr. Bartlet', 'Mrs.  
  
Bartlet' and 'ma'am'?"  
  
I don't know how to respond to this, so I stupidly look down  
  
at our hands.  
  
"Call me Abbey," she whispers, not moving her head, but  
  
directing her eyes to mine.  
  
My mind is racing.Danger Joshua Lyman, Danger! I can't speak  
  
for a time. Then, a moment of clarity hits me. There's only one  
  
thing I can say to her right now.  
  
I place my other hand on top of hers, never taking my eyes  
  
from hers. "You're not alone, Abbey."  
  
Tears are falling faster now, although they are silent. I let  
  
go of her with one of my hands and wipe her tears away. The tears  
  
collect quickly on my fingers as I sit in absolute quiet and watch  
  
her. No words can ease this pain; even I'm not that arrogant.  
  
She removes her hand from mine and places it over the one on  
  
her cheek. Her face is warm from emotion and when her hand touches  
  
mine, the one touching her face, it feels as though an electric  
  
current is moving through us. I try to avert my eyes from her, but  
  
they won't move.  
  
"You've always been so good to us, Josh. You've always been  
  
there for us, even when he was a horse's ass back in the primaries.  
  
You stood by us. You're a kind man, Josh." She raises her other hand  
  
and touches my face. My breath catches in my throat.  
  
I drop my hands for just a second, and then I find myself  
  
pulling her into my arms. She willingly accepts my gesture and molds  
  
her body to mine, setting her head on my shoulder. Upon our bodies'  
  
contact, I close my eyes, fully aware of what was about to happen and  
  
accepting full responsibility for it.  
  
I let her tears soak my shirt for a while, until I couldn't  
  
stand it any longer. I put my hand under her chin and tilt her face  
  
upward to me. I bend down and kiss her cheek, to dispel the pieces of  
  
sadness leaving their traces on her face. She tips her head up toward  
  
me and touches her lips to mine. The voice inside my head is  
  
screaming, "Stop!" but I take her move as a sign.  
  
I can now confess, I've fantasized about this for years and, right or  
  
wrong, I have to see where this takes me...where it takes us.  
  
I feel her body relax against me as we deepen the kiss-yes, it  
  
was mutual-neither one of us taking the lead-just listening to our own  
  
rhythms and allowing them to take control.  
  
I pull her onto my lap, so I can completely take her in my  
  
arms and feel her against me. Her long legs stretch across the couch,  
  
squelching any second, third or fourth thoughts I may have had up  
  
until now.  
  
She pulls at my tie. I always tie them too damn tight. I  
  
help her loosen it and remove it.  
  
We break apart for a few moments and just stare at each other.  
  
"Dr. Bartlet," I begin.  
  
"Joshua, not now..." she requests in a pleading voice.  
  
"Abbey," I begin again.  
  
"Josh," she interrupts a second time, pulling at my shirt and  
  
reclining back on the couch. "Please." Again, such a simple word  
  
with such a complex meaning...  
  
I lean over her and kiss her again as she starts to remove my  
  
shirt. Things begin to progress quickly, as Abbey gains her  
  
confidence. She is in her element. In control, but with her needs  
  
being taken care of. This is where she belongs. This is what a man  
  
should give her. I'm simply honored that she's chosen me.  
  
She moves her lips from mine, down onto my neck and chest, and  
  
I know I cannot turn back now. I'm hers, as I have been for so  
  
long...and now I want her to be mine.  
  
Her business attire is looking pretty casual as we pull at the  
  
buttons and try to get as close to one another as we can: her skin on  
  
my skin; my body against hers. Perfection.  
  
I have a brief moment of hesitation as we prepare for the  
  
moment we are one. She looks up and smiles at me. "Josh, we've  
  
waited so long." This is all that I need to summon my courage.  
  
At that moment, the room seems to cave in on itself and I am  
  
right there, where I've long to be, where I've dreamed of...I can't  
  
see or hear a thing, except her breathing and mine....  
  
"Josh?"  
  
And her voice.  
  
"Josh?"  
  
I open my eyes and see her looking at me, her face still  
  
slightly stained with tears.  
  
"Josh, are you ok?" she asks me.  
  
I look down and notice my tie is still tied, my shirt and coat  
  
are still on and my shoulder is still wet from her tears. Abbey's  
  
still sitting next to me on the couch...  
  
I realize where I am and what exactly has transpired here...  
  
I smile. "Yes, everything is fine."  
  
"You were a million miles away there. Where were you anyway?"  
  
"Nowhere. I was right here. It's all right."  
  
She studies me carefully and says nothing for a while. Then,  
  
with a smile, she sits up a little straighter. "I should go find Jed.  
  
I think I'm ready to talk to him now. Maybe I can catch him on one  
  
of his laps around the building."  
  
"Oh, yes. That's good." I say awkwardly.  
  
"Josh?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She leans in just a little closer. "If were just a little bit  
  
younger and available. I would consider it in a heartbeat."  
  
My back straightens up as my face contorts into some form of  
  
panic...  
  
"How? I didn't...I wouldn't..."  
  
"Josh, how do I say this...men don't and can't hide their  
  
thoughts as well as women."  
  
Oh, no...I couldn't...I don't.  
  
She chuckles. "It's ok, Josh, really. You don't think I  
  
haven't considered the thought?"  
  
"What?" I say, utterly shocked.  
  
"Joshua, I may be older, and I may be married, but I'm not  
  
dead," she sits back down. "The thought has crossed my mind a number  
  
of times since the day I met you," she tells me with a grin. "Don't  
  
tell anyone, but you must know you've always been my favorite."  
  
I don't believe my ears.  
  
"I should go," she informs me quietly. "Thank you, Josh."  
  
I rise in tandem with her. "Sure, no problem," I reply.  
  
She goes for the door and then stops and turns back around.  
  
"Josh?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Make me a promise, ok?"  
  
"If I can."  
  
"Promise me there will be another time when you'll call me  
  
Abbey."  
  
"Absolutely," I answer her honestly.  
  
"Good. Good night, Josh," she says.  
  
"Good night," I reply as she walks out the door.  
  
As I stand there watching her leave, Donna blows into the  
  
room.  
  
"Josh. Oh my God! I waited and waited."  
  
I roll my eyes and head back to my desk. "For what, Donna?  
  
Don't you have a home?"  
  
"For her to leave," Donna throws back at me, ignoring my last  
  
question. "Please, Josh, don't tell me you're about to get fired,  
  
again."  
  
"No, Donna," I sigh.  
  
"Well, then? What was she here for?"  
  
"It's nothing, Donna. She just had to run a few things by  
  
me."  
  
Donna puts her hands on her hips, apparently unsatisfied with  
  
my answer. Then, she looks around the room. "Look at this mess,  
  
Josh! How many times do I have to tell you to clean off that desk?"  
  
"I promise, I will, but tomorrow. Come on. It's late. Grab  
  
your coat. Let's get out of here. I'll even by you a latte."  
  
Donna looks at me in amazement. "Ok," she replies and heads  
  
out the door for her coat.  
  
I grab my coat from the rack in my office and head for my  
  
door. I stand there for a moment, watching Donna put her coat on.  
  
When she's ready, we start our departure. But, Donna stops in the  
  
middle of the hallway.  
  
"What is it?" I ask her.  
  
"There goes Mrs. Bartlet," she whispers.  
  
"Hey, Donna, that's Dr. Bartlet to you and me," I inform her,  
  
leading her out of the office.  
  
END 


End file.
